


Let The Dragon Consume You

by KensingtonRaw



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Mild Blood, Oral Sex, Soft Vore, fem dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KensingtonRaw/pseuds/KensingtonRaw
Summary: Hanzo has a little problem that Satya just finds... fascinating.





	Let The Dragon Consume You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Overwatch Kink Zine.

If Hanzo were honest with himself, he would have been surprised that no-one had caught him sooner. Not that being honest with himself was his forte.

But either way, that it had taken this long was improbable if nothing else - although if any one of his new comrades had a mind to put the rest of them to shame it was Satya Vaswani.

And put _him_ to shame, apparently. Hanzo scrambled to right himself and calm his breathing as she looked up to his face from her previous focus - the obvious shape straining through his undergarments. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, and the silence would have been oppressive if not for the increasingly distant roar of his dragons continuing their flight into the night, their hunger sated for now - that and his racing heartbeat. 

“How intriguing.” Satya broke the silence as she continued to observe him, and he realised with a start that this was the first time that he had held her gaze for so long, or at all - her eyes glinting with no hesitancy beneath the bright visor. “Though what is it that is said? It is always the quiet ones?” and he thinks that she smiles at him then, just a slight upturn of that perfect mouth.

“I… do not know what you are referring to.” Hanzo sounded out; quick enough, he hoped, to halt her line of thought - after all, it was not that uncommon for a man to experience the heat of battle in varied ways - and he did not need anyone to examine the specifics, Hanzo certainly liked to avoid dwelling on it. But Vaswani’s gaze didn’t falter, and he felt himself wilt beneath it. In more ways than one. And of _course_ she noticed that too.

 

“The moment has passed.” It was a statement not a question, and Hanzo couldn’t tell whether that was disappointment lurking in her voice.

 

“It would… seem so,” he slowly confirmed, and he risked raising his eyes again; wondering if he needed to explain himself or if the humiliation was over. 

 

“Have you identified the root cause?” and she has taken it upon herself to dissect him then, puzzling apart his most intimate shame - a wave of familiar disgust rolled through him at the mention of it, only to be doused and then aroused by the interest in her tone, the hunger in those eyes. He shakes his head carefully, caught helplessly in her gaze and unsure where this was headed.

 

“I do not dwell on it.” And that is the truth. The... excitement, that so often caught Hanzo off guard in battle - the rush that burned through him when the dragons sprung forth and consumed someone at his command - at his _whim_ \- it was a private shame; something he dealt with alone. 

 

“Perhaps you should.” Vaswani’s tone is casual but those eyes are just…

 

Waiting for an answer, Hanzo realises with a start - but he just cannot bring himself to give one, instincts screaming for him to play dumb.

 

“I do not understand.” That’s a mistake, the hunger in her eyes replaced by annoyance and maybe the moment is over; whatever the conclusion it had been leading to lost to him forever.

 

“I have very little time for fools,” she answers, turning away from him slightly and running one immaculately manicured nail over the grip of her gun, digging it in slightly and flicking a near invisible spec of dirt away with a sneer. “However,” she begins, talking over her shoulder as she turns completely and begins to walk away “I can always make time for study.”  
________________________________________

Symmetra is reclining lazily on a cushioned chair, regarding him silently.

 

_Symmetra._

 

That wasn’t what he had called her when he had knocked on her door not five minutes ago. Miss Vaswani - that’s what he had called out, trying to keep his voice as even and gruff as he knew it normally sounded. It was what she had asked him to call her the first time they had met, just over a month ago, when one of his brother’s obnoxious teammates had insisted on introducing him to everyone in sight and had called her Symmetra - she’d shared her real name with a roll of her eyes and a flick of her hair. Satya, Satya Vaswani - Symmetra was a name for the battlefield.

 

So why did he think of that name now? Maybe it’s because she has the high ground.

Hanzo is on his knees, it was the first thing that had happened after the door has closed behind him, straight onto the floor - Symmetra had wasted no time in pulling at his collar, leaving his torso naked in the ambient air of the room. His hands were tied also, which he didn’t quite remember her doing; when she stripped him perhaps? Hanzo didn’t even know what it was he was bound with - they don’t have the cool bite of handcuffs, but there’s absolutely no give as he rotates his wrist; hard light perhaps - and if so, were they already in her arsenal or had she cooked them up just for him? 

 

“This is not... what I was expecting.” he voices slowly, and part of his brain tells him he should be more cautious, that he should be looking how to regain the upper hand, but more basic instincts are focused on the curve of Symmetra’s mouth as she smirks, the entirety of her immaculate in her battle-dress, blue and gold and gleaming white. 

 

“There is a theory in the older sciences;” Symmetra begins as she neatly sweeps the front panel of her dress aside, spreading her legs “of equivalent exchange.” she rubs two fingers of her synthetic hand down the front panel of her underwear, slowly and with precision. “I have worked hard on this, _experiment_ for you.” She doesn’t bother to voice the demand itself.

She doesn’t need to say anything, doesn’t need to ask him for anything that he isn’t already desperate for. Any thought of his pride is gone as he shuffles towards her, his breath catching as she neatly hooks both hands beneath her underwear and slips it off over her tall boots. He gets close enough to smell her, and nearly chokes as she sweeps the manicured nails of her natural hand through the thicket of hair around her pussy before parting her folds and presenting him with his task.

 

As if it were a chore. 

 

He is absolutely captivated by her, by this situation, but now isn’t the time to be caught up in his own thoughts, and he leans in - chasing the faint scent of her as he noses along one thigh, taking his time. Hanzo would usually prefer a bed for this, as much time as he needed, enough to draw it out, teasing or going at it until his jaw ached and his face and beard are soaked but right now isn't the time, not when she's arching her hips off the chair towards him. His tongue flicks at her clit and she pushes against him harder as he traces out shapes around the nub of her, working his jaw until he starts to feel the ache, then moving to suck gently until she finally gasps, a hand gripping his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp – just enough to hurt and it makes him hum in the back of his throat, prompting her to jerk forward.

 

"You have some talent at this," she allows, and he pulls back to look up at her as she stretches, the hand that isn’t curled in his hair reaching towards the ceiling in a graceful arc. " _Do_ continue," she prompts with a smirk and the fingers in his hair double, as her synthetic hand pushes Hanzo’s face deep into her cunt, and she grips his hair tighter as he feels, more than hears, her moan. 

 

Hanzo can’t help but wish his hands were free, that he could move them to apply pressure where his mouth wasn’t dextrous enough, plunge them into her in the way his tongue could never reach and fuck her open, so he could touch her, take her, claim her - not simply taste. 

But Symmetra knew that already, he realised, as he paused for a moment to look up at her, eyes narrowed as she looked under her visor at him and pulled on his hair at the interruption. 

He was not in control here and now, this was her moment - and he was here to give it to her, was _desperate_ to do it. 

 

Hanzo thinks she knows that already too. 

 

He almost goes to ask her what she wants exactly but she wastes no time in grabbing the back of his head again, his hair loose now and it falls between his cheek and her thigh as she grinds herself directly onto his face. There’s barely any breath in him as his mouth greets the slick heat of her again, and he finds himself tonguing at her entrance more than her clit as she rides hard against the ridge of his nose, and his world is reduced to nothing but heat and taste. He feels it though, when her thighs grip even tighter around his head and the sound of one sharp moan greets him as she pushes him away.

 

Symmetra’s chest is heaving as she leans forward in the chair, brushing the thoroughly damp strands of hair out of Hanzo’s eyes. She follows this small gentle action with one last tug on his hair before running her thumb through her slick on his beard, pressing it firmly against his mouth - the unyielding surface of her prosthetic pushing right past his lips.

 

“What a disgusting boy,” she mutters, and Hanzo isn’t sure whether he was even supposed to hear her. “A good boy though,” she allows, louder now, and the hard surface of her thumb is still in his mouth - tasteless as he tongues the last of her wetness from it, and he feels a vibration work throughout his body from her fingers through his teeth as the circle of blue light in her palm glowed softly, “time for your treat.”

 

There is a low whirr from behind her and Hanzo realises that what he’d unwittingly assumed were turrets around the room were actually a series of hard light projectors. Symmetra had dimmed the lights when he had entered her chambers and his eye’s struggle to adjust as there is a flash of blue light and an unfathomable shape crackles into life before him.

 

She has created a dragon.

 

Hanzo cannot help but see how it is different from his dragons - even as it springs into existence in almost the exact same shade of shining blue - it pulls itself fully into his view on thick strong legs, with claws the length of a grown man’s finger sounding out against the hard floor as it moves. Hanzo realises his mouth is hanging agape as it rears up, towering over them both as it looks down at him from over her shoulder. 

 

It is magnificent. 

 

Symmetra is studying his reaction with that same interest that she was before - like he’s a puzzle rather than a person - and he wonders what she sees. As she moves her cybernetic hand slightly and the dragon stalks around her so there is nothing between him and it anymore.

He realises he is afraid. 

 

Hanzo goes to say something and it launches at him, pinning him to the ground, and then it turns back to her, looking for approval like it was some actual beast she had summoned from a dark and terrible place, wanting nothing but to please her. Which, in a split second of clarity, he realises it is. 

 

“What do you mean by this?” He wishes the question didn’t come out so breathy, so weak, and Symmetra laughs, looking at him as though he is a simpleton.

 

“Well one result is clear enough,” she muses, and Hanzo’s face would be flushed if all his blood wasn’t already rigid in his dick, which she seems to regard with amusement more than anything else. “And as for the other. Surely you cannot deny it is a man’s helplessness in the face of being consumed that entices you so.” She doesn’t wait for an answer. Her dragon breathes down on him, and a part of him wonders how it seems to actually be taking in the air - what she could have done to make a hard light construction produce moist, molten warmth in this way - but he is mostly focused on how she uses the toe of one boot to push his legs further apart as he lies there. How, when he tries to make himself more comfortable, the dragon pushes down harder, actually draws blood. 

 

Very real blood.

 

“This is not real,” he says, half to himself and half as a request for normality - for safety. And Symmetra laughs again, and maybe it would be a beautiful sound out in the world, her face lit in sunlight and the sound of her amusement caught on fresh air. But here in this suffocating room, the only light on her face from the monster she has created, it is chilling, the most gracefully terrifying thing he has ever heard.

 

“I imagine your prey must think the same - wish the same - before they are consumed.” 

Symmetra’s tone is contemplative but her eyes don’t leave his face, don’t lose their calculating focus. She stands, making the most of her new position by moving her boot against his leg again, higher and higher until she nudges against the trapped shape of his cock and he gasps, the movement of his chest pushing the dragon’s claws deeper under his skin.

 

And Symmetra almost looks flushed again, as she towers over his prone form alongside her beast, running her flesh and bone hand along its head, blue nails carding through its thick mane and it leans into the touch - closes its eyes like a cat and makes a low rumble to match, and again Hanzo’s mind stutters - it’s so real, she couldn’t have just programmed it from nothingness.

 

“Do you think they wonder if they might survive?” she lifts her foot slightly and applies pressure right over his dick, “That some other magic, just as old and powerful as yours, will protect them from teeth, and fury, and lightning?” Hanzo can barely hear her over the rush of blood in his ears but each word still manages to burn itself onto his brain. “Or do you think that terror purges them of such hopes, that they know there is no escape - that they are yours?” 

 

Her dragon is pushing down hard enough that speaking is near impossible, and Hanzo has to struggle out his reply. The words come out spluttered and weak, and he doesn’t even know if he’s audible over the heavy breathing of her beast, or the frantic hammering of his own chest;

 

“I don’t… know...” he chokes out.

 

And he doesn’t know.

 

Maybe he had imagined an answer to that question - maybe he had allowed his mind to wander a few times, to fantasize, but here in _her_ reality, pinned and hard and bleeding; he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, the doesn’t-

 

“And what do _you_ think?” she asks him, her voice low and as heated as any dragon’s fire, and the answer comes to him clear as anything, as real and terrible as the teeth that opened wide above him as his sight fills with shining blue.

 

“I am yours.” 

 

But he couldn’t even see her anymore, just the ring of bright white that made up the dragon’s maw. Its tongue teased at him, hot and heavy as the dragon pulled back its claws leaving only the weight of that tongue of him, and it began to move. Brushing against his face, his shoulders and chest; and something crackled in Hanzo’s tattoo in response and he felt himself cry out - but his dragons did not come. The world outside slipped away, replaced by the arches and trembling walls inside of the dragon’s mouth, its breathing roaring in his ears. A swallow like deep, distant thunder rattled him, sending a pulse down its throat ahead of him.

 

The dragon eased him off the hard floor with its tongue, pulling him back to where the opening of its throat stretched wide, waiting for him. Slick, smooth walls wrapped around his face, tight and suffocating. Its tongue lapped at his thigh, curled over his still trapped dick, as if the dragon wanted to taste him before it finally released his legs, allowed the inescapable pull of its oesophagus draw him deep inside.

 

Hanzo moaned out his last gulp of oxygen as the dragon swallowed, again and again; each pull of its throat taking more of his body into it. It’s oesophagus itself wrapped around him like a second skin, radiating the heat and bright light of the dragon’s body into his own. It was as though he was melting into it, the boundary between where Hanzo stopped and it began becoming more uncertain as he sank deeper. The white-hot heat of his terror, the burn of his arousal, the heat of her monster, all of it the same. The heat built and built until to Hanzo it was everything, the entirety of him burning up - like a star in the cradle of a newly made universe.

 

Her universe.


End file.
